


Give Me a Sign

by avidbeader



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, not students, they're all teachers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2019-08-14 12:37:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16492745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avidbeader/pseuds/avidbeader
Summary: Shiro is the new science teacher, still dealing with some culture shock in adjusting to a school four times the size of his previous one. At graduation, he's still meeting other teachers for the first time, including his first look at one of the ASL interpreters.





	1. Graduation

**Author's Note:**

> I shared this on Tumblr over the weekend, wanting to contribute some fun and sweetness to my fellow Sheith shippers after the drama and damage caused by the fake leaks. Just remember, canon is a nice bonus but nothing will stop us shipping our boys.
> 
> I stress-wrote the first chapter of this during the runup to Season 6, thinking in terms of a one-shot. Then I got ideas that I think will take it to four chapters. I was hoping to finish it fast, but real life took over. So add this to the published WIPs that will get another chapter as soon as I get it written.
> 
> As always, many thanks to [Latart0903](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latart0903) for the most excellent and valuable beta support.

 

 

Shiro felt the satin at his shoulders slide to one side yet again and growled in frustration. As he reached to try and straighten it for the umpteenth time, Matt laughed and batted his hand away.

 

“Here, let me.” Shiro stood still as Matt unzipped the robe a little and looped the hood under his necktie. “Step one, check. Now, step two. Pidge! Need a safety pin!”

 

A tiny woman, with hair the exact same honey-brown as Matt, eeled through the growing crowd of faculty and reached into the pocket created by her elongated sleeve. She produced a pack of safety pins and stepped into Shiro’s personal space after removing one and thrusting the pack into Matt’s hand.

 

“Hold still. And don’t forget it’s in here after the ceremony or you’ll rip both your hood and your tie.”

 

Shiro’s eyebrows rose and he replied dryly, “Yes, ma’am.” He stayed still as her fingers worked quickly at his throat, pinning the hood dead center underneath his tie. Then she pushed at him to turn around. Matt grinned as she adjusted the hang of his hood, turning the point out to show both colors against the black.

 

Matt returned the safety pins. “Pidge, meet Takashi Shirogane, our new physics teacher. Shiro, this is Katie Holt, comp sciences department chair and my sister.”

 

Shiro brightened and held out a hand. “Nice to finally meet you. Matt’s mentioned you a few times. Have I seen you at the faculty meetings?”

 

She shook hands, not seeming to notice the glove covering his prosthesis, and nodded. “Yeah, probably. Nice to meet you, too. Matt told me about your boot camp reviews for the AP exams. If you’ve got some kind of outline that can be adapted to other subjects, I’d love to see it.”

 

Shiro nodded. “Yeah, I modified it from something the AP Stats teacher did at my previous school.”

 

“Excellent!” She shot him two thumbs-up and was about to go on, but a cry of “Pidge! Got your safety pins?” from the other side of the crowd made her roll her eyes before taking off.

 

Shiro chuckled and Matt clapped him on the shoulder. “I swear, you’ll eventually meet everyone here.”

 

“Really? Because every time I turn around, it looks like you’ve added another dozen faces.”

 

Matt shrugged. “Yeah, it’s a big faculty, but it’s a big school. We’ve been above two thousand students for five years now.”

 

Shiro shook his head. His last school, before the accident and prolonged recovery, had been in a smaller town and had a total of about five hundred kids. The graduating class alone here at Glenn High was bigger than that. But being able to step into a job as soon as the doctors cleared him—in the fourth quarter, no less—had been a godsend.

 

“Have you heard from Ms. Caplan lately?” Shiro asked after the teacher he’d replaced.

 

“Not for a couple of weeks. She didn’t try to find a job yet; still dealing with the family stuff.”

 

Shiro gave a tight, sympathetic smile, then jumped slightly as a voice sounded over a bullhorn. “All right, faculty! Two lines, evenly divided! Line leaders, go between the rows of seats and loop around to the front one! Start when the band shifts to the processional!”

 

Shiro followed Matt, who snagged his sister’s arm as she was passing and pulled her into line in front of him. As the teachers shifted into two groups, Shiro spotted the bullhorn in the hand of a woman in a vibrant pink sundress. For a moment he wondered why she wasn’t in regalia if she were a teacher, then realized as she plunged through the doors into the lobby with the seniors that she’d dressed for visibility against the navy, gold-trimmed robes the students wore. Now she was shouting instructions through the bullhorn at the students, scolding them for getting out of their designated lines.

 

Matt nodded in her direction. “Have you met Ms. Altea yet? Theater teacher. Always in charge of graduation.”

 

Shiro shook his head. Pidge leaned around Matt and grinned. “Yep, always and forever. A couple of English teachers tried to take it over a few years ago and it was the sloppiest ceremony we’d had in years. The principal went to Allura and almost begged on his knees for her to come back. She did, but only after she’d leveraged him for doing a fall musical as well as a spring one every year.”

 

Shiro laughed. He’d only been here for two months and already knew that Glenn prided itself on its arts programs. And the soccer, track, and swim teams. And the fact they offered five languages. And traditionally having the highest average of AP scores in the district.

 

He was fairly confident that he hadn’t done any damage to the students in the enviro and physics classes he’d taken over. He had simply started on his boot camp review, supplementing the few areas where he noticed weaknesses in the students’ knowledge, and the scores from the practice exams pointed to a robust passing rate. Certainly most of the students had come in from the tests feeling good. The hardest part had been getting used to the fact that everyone here called the environmental science class “APES” instead of “Enviro”.

 

The music shifted, jerking Shiro out of his thoughts, and he followed Matt out to the rows of faculty seats.

 

********************

 

Shiro was dealing with culture shock, yet again. The graduation ceremony was held in the basketball arena of an area university. This was the third ceremony of the day to take place here; the district had nine separate high schools and seven of them were so big that not even the football stands on their campuses would hold all the friends and relatives of the graduating classes. It was so very different from his old school, where they had used the auditorium, or even the small private school he had attended, with the ceremony and reception in a nearby hotel. He looked around as he stood in line in front of his seat, between Matt and a vaguely familiar face from the career and tech department, a large guy who had expressed interest in Shiro’s prosthesis from an engineering standpoint.

 

Pidge leaned over Matt again as they waited for the students to enter. “You are very, very lucky. This place only got air conditioning a year ago.”

 

Shiro blinked at that and Matt nodded. “Yeah, it was fucking miserable if the weather was typical June. Last year I think almost all of us cried when we entered the building, we were so relieved.”

 

The seniors began filing in, following the junior marshals in their white shirts or dresses with gold sashes. Like the faculty, they came in from both sides and did a rather impressive pattern of alternating rows. Even with the very efficient method, it still took ten minutes for the section to fill. Shiro nodded and smiled at a few of the students from his classes, and a couple of seniors actually broke line to fist-bump the teacher beside him, one murmuring, “I made it, Mr. Garrett!”

 

“Yes, you did, Luis. Knew you could.”

 

As Mr. Mayfield, the principal, instructed everyone to remain standing for the anthem, Shiro noticed a young man moving to one corner of the stage. He was dressed to the nines in a navy suit, except the jacket seemed to hang one size too large for him.

 

Then he began moving his arms and Shiro understood. Glenn was the magnet school for the deaf/hard-of-hearing population and the young man was the interpreter. His hands and arms moved continuously through the anthem as he mouthed the words.

 

Shiro found himself watching the interpreter with growing amusement. He was getting into it, his expression constantly reflecting his thoughts on what he was doing. He showed delight at the jokes the salutatorian included in the welcome, looked overly stern as the senior class president introduced the administration and school board members. Then the student chorus began singing “Seasons of Love” and the interpreter was _this close_ to just dancing across the stage as he signed the lyrics and lip-synced along.

 

As the seniors who were part of the chorus separated from the other students and filed into the empty rows that had been held for them, Shiro noticed the interpreter change places with another young man who had been seated nearby. The second interpreter was striking, with longish dark hair. His suit was deep burgundy, with a blue-and-gold striped tie to represent the school colors, and his jacket was also a little large to give him greater freedom of movement.

 

His style was more subdued. He signed precisely and his face showed appreciation for the combination of jokes and serious thoughts that the valedictorian shared, but he was clearly trying to keep general attention on the speaker more than himself. As the interpreter continued with the closing remarks from the student body president and the principal’s warning to the audience not to create noise during the reading of the graduates’ names, Shiro grew more appreciative of his features and began wondering what color eyes he had.

 

And then Mr. Wimbleton-Smythe, department chair of social studies, began reading the names as students crossed the stage to shake hands with the superintendent and collect their diplomas from the principal. Shiro’s eyes widened when he realized just how fast the man was going. After the first few names, the only noise coming from the audience was the quickest of whoops or claps, because families realized that they might miss the reading of their student’s name. Both interpreters were standing now, taking turns finger-spelling each name. Shiro watched, racking his brain for the ASL alphabet that he learned once as a child for fun, and saw that they were spelling first initials and surnames only.

 

In a shockingly short time, the superintendent directed the students to turn the tassels on their caps to the left, the students screamed and tossed caps into the air to celebrate, and the recessional began. Shiro followed Matt out and the theater teacher directed them to stay in line, creating a funnel to the exits where families would be coming to find their children. The tech teacher turned to him, grinning openly.

 

“Okay, Allura just beat her record. Five hundred fifty-seven graduates and we’re done in fifty-eight minutes!”

 

Shiro laughed. “I can’t believe I’m going to get home in time to watch the game from tipoff.”

 

“Yeah? Warriors or Sixers?”

 

“Sixers, I guess. I grew up following the Bulls, so I don’t have a dog in the fight, but the Warriors have enough championships.”

 

“I hear you. I grew up in Houston. Oh, I think we met but just the once. Hunk Garrett, electrical and mechanical engineering.”

 

“Takashi Shirogane, but call me Shiro. Sciences.”

 

Their conversation was cut off as the first students emerged from the basketball court and many of the faculty began applauding. Allura was in the middle, without the bullhorn but shouting, “Go, go, GO!” as she encouraged the students outside. As they filed out, many students traded high-fives or ran over to hug a favorite teacher. Shiro was surprised by one young man who exuberantly hugged every single teacher in his line, but played along.

 

Once the last students were out, Matt and Pidge led Shiro through a side door that let them slip around the growing crowds of family and friends and toward the bus that had been arranged from the school so the faculty wouldn’t have to fight for parking. Pidge unzipped her robe, revealing a loose, light green dress, and unpinned her hood.

 

Shiro worked his own pin free and handed it back to her. “Thanks for that.”

 

“No problem. What time are you coming in tomorrow?”

 

“Nine or ten. I still have a lot of science equipment to inventory and stow.”

 

She nodded. “I have to go through the laptop carts, make sure everything’s cleared from testing and such. And I still haven’t emptied my desk yet.”

 

“Emptied your desk?”

 

“Yep,” Matt replied. “You’ll need to clean out your desk and label all the furniture with your room number. When they do the floors, they just throw everything in the halls. They work so fast you can’t trust them. Get as much as you can into the closets, the big bookcases, or file cabinets. They don’t move those.”

 

Shiro groaned. “Okay, maybe I’m coming in at eight.”

 

Pidge straightened, seeing the bus driver headed their way. “Don’t forget, luncheon in the cafeteria at noon. The PTA got Sal’s Catering to do the food, so it should be a nice spread.”

 

Shiro nodded in response, noticing the two interpreters headed for the reserved parking area. They seemed to be in a heated discussion and finally the first interpreter threw up his hands and got into a car. The second interpreter headed for a motorcycle, trading the burgundy jacket for a leather one from a side compartment and pulling out a helmet.

 

Shiro hadn’t realized he was staring until Matt elbowed him. “See something you like?”

 

“You don’t know me well enough to ask that,” Shiro retorted.

 

Pidge snickered as Matt grinned and answered, “Yeah, I think I do.”

 

********************

 

Once again, Shiro found himself comparing his previous school to this one and being impressed. Instead of a basic pizza delivery, the luncheon was a full meal, including two entrees, sides and salads, with everything clearly labeled for a variety of dietary restrictions. There was a raffle with over twenty different gift cards as prizes. Mr. Mayfield quickly but enthusiastically ran through a list of recognitions, and Shiro stood when called upon as one of the faculty members who had joined mid-year.

 

Pidge grabbed Shiro’s elbow as the meal broke up. “Did you get your room finished yet?”

 

“Almost, I still have to get a couple more things onto shelves and defrost the mini-fridge in there.”

 

“Have you covered your shelves yet?”

 

“Covered them?”

 

“Yeah, the cleaning crew tends to splash wax on everything. Plus the band kids use some of the rooms for section practice in the summer and you don’t want them messing with anything visible.”

 

“Um, okay. What do I use? Newspaper?”

 

She shook her head and called out, “Keith! Hey, Keith!”

 

Shiro froze as the dark-haired interpreter from graduation turned and headed over. And Shiro found the answer to his question: he had blue eyes that shaded toward gray in a way that made them look almost violet.

 

“Keith, do you think Ms. Parham still has any old bulletin-board paper?”

 

He nodded. “Looked like it when I checked in with her this morning. Why?”

 

“Shiro here needs some for his shelves. Can you show him to her room?” She grinned mischievously, looking very like her brother for a minute.

 

Keith looked at Shiro, slightly nonplussed, and Pidge rolled her eyes. “Shiro, this is Keith Kogane, our ASL teacher. Shiro’s our new science teacher.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes in return, mocking her, before holding out a hand to shake. “Yeah, I heard Mayfield say so. Sure, follow me.”

 

Keith led him to a hall of the sprawling main building he had not seen before. As they walked, Shiro noticed that students had painted a lot of the ceiling tiles. The theme was Spanish: flags for different countries, logos for popular brands or soccer teams. Keith stopped at one open door and tapped on it. “Sarah? You still have spare bulletin-board paper?”

 

The woman in the room held up one hand as she finished counting a stack of textbooks and wrote a number down. “I do. Didn’t you already cover your shelves?”

 

“I did, but Shiro here could use some.”

 

She flapped a hand in invitation and they stepped inside. Shiro looked at the long swaths of colored paper taped across her shelves. Most pieces showed a life-sized outline of a body with colorful clothing labeled in Spanish.

 

“Sarah’s chair of world languages and we love her forever. She always does these big group projects and then saves them for the end of the year for just this purpose.”

 

“I thought you loved me because I throw a temper tantrum every spring to try and get you more ASL classes.”

 

“That too. Maybe next year they’ll listen.”

 

Each carrying a few loosely-rolled sheets of paper, they started toward Shiro’s room. Keith began rambling, “My position is currently funded through the EC department, not world languages, so they’ll only pay for enough classes to support the DHH kids. It’s always a feeding frenzy when the rest of the students try for the extra spaces. Sarah knows we could support a full slate of classes, and I really want to be in the classroom full time, but we haven’t been able to convince Central Office to spend the money yet. So I teach half the time and do classroom interpretation and student support the rest of the time.”

 

“How about your buddy?”

 

“Buddy?” Keith looked mystified.

 

“The other interpreter yesterday.”

 

“Oh! That’s Lance. Lance McClain. He’s one of the support staff for DHH.”

 

“He...gets into his work, I take it?”

 

Keith scowled as Shiro led him into his classroom. “He doesn’t pull that crap when he’s doing classroom interpretation, at least.”

 

“So his style is frowned upon?”

 

Keith sighed, unrolling the sheets of paper on a lab table. “It depends. There’s studies showing that interpreters tend to adjust how they work depending on their audiences. We tend to mouth what we’re communicating more when we have hearing people in the audience, for example. But when Lance gets in front of a large crowd like that...it’s like he’s performing. And that’s not our job. We’re there to assist communication, not put on a show.”

 

Shiro nodded, thinking about how easily distracted he had been from the remarks being made in favor of watching Lance’s expressions. “I see what you mean.”

 

Keith stayed to lend a hand as Shiro covered his shelves and insisted on helping carry the defrosted mini-fridge to his car. “Trust me, the football coaches actively search the school for any fridge not behind a locked door and co-opt it for their Gatorade supply. And then they don’t put them back. Keep it at your place. I’m pretty sure it was Mr. West’s before it was Ms. Caplan’s, so she won’t want it shipped to her.”

 

They walked back in. Shiro planned to take one more look at his room, check in with the department chair, and go home and binge some Netflix, but he was reluctant to part from Keith. As he tried to think of something to ask, debating between coffee or a drink, the office admin’s voice came over the PA system.

 

“Any teachers in the building, if you are available the counselors need help stuffing report cards for mailing. Please report to student services if you can help.”

 

Keith glanced at him. “Want to?”

 

“Sure.”

 

********************

 

One of the counselors set them up with stacks of report cards, transcripts, and pre-addressed envelopes, with envelope glue and a box to hold sealed envelopes. Shiro and Keith shared a table and began working through the sophomores, M-R. Keith had obviously helped out like this before and had a system, creasing folds with his thumbnail and swiping glue on the envelopes in two efficient strokes. Shiro did his best to copy him.

 

As they found their rhythm, they began chatting. Shiro learned that Keith had been riding motorcycles since he was eight years old, had a second-degree black belt in aikido, and lived alone with a pair of cats. He began learning sign language in his teens after a young cousin suffered hearing loss through meningitis. Shiro shared his own love of cats, his taste for the latest Netflix shows, and his dreams of being an astronaut until he exceeded the height limit in college. They compared other places they had taught: Shiro in a small town between their location and the coast, and Keith at the western campus of the state’s school for the deaf.

 

“I like it much better here. It’s counterintuitive, but I love teaching ASL to a mixed population. The hearing kids are usually the ones who drive the ASL club and do outreach, because to them it’s more like a cool secret code than learning a language. And it’s just nice to be in a major metro area; I had to drive almost an hour south if I wanted anything that wasn’t a burger chain, pizza, or a mom-and-pop diner.”

 

Shiro nodded vigorously. “We had one non-Taco Bell Mexican restaurant in our town. That was it. No Indian, no Thai, no Greek...nothing.”

 

“Ooh, I haven’t had Indian in a while. I think the best one is Rasal’s, over on Western Boulevard. Have you been yet?”

 

Shiro shook his head.

 

“Want to go?”

 

Shiro froze, nearly dropping the bottle of glue, and felt his face grow hot. “I...um, sure. Yes. Absolutely.”

 

Keith nodded and fished his phone from his pocket. He unlocked it and opened a new contact before sliding it across to Shiro. “Drop your info in there. Would Friday work?”

 

Shiro tapped in his name and number. “Yeah, that’ll be great.” He slid the phone back, then playfully touched his fingers to his lips and brought his hand down in the sign for “thank you”, one of the few that he remembered.

 

Keith smiled and responded with his own gesture, spreading his fingers slightly and touching his thumb to his chest, then spelled S-H-I-R-O, his fingers almost flying.

 

Shiro felt a sudden urge to shove the table between them aside and pounce on him.

 

Keith’s near-violet eyes danced but his own cheeks were turning pink. He cleared his throat and picked up the next report card in his pile. “Race you? Loser buys?”

 

Shiro grinned. “You’re on.”

 

 


	2. Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to [Latart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latart0903/pseuds/Latart0903) for the beta work!

  


Keith had half a dozen button-downs and polos on his bed, sorting through which ones had the least amount of cat hair or wrinkles. He had settled on jeans—Rasal’s was casual enough—but was suddenly dithering over shirts.

 

Where had these nerves come from? He’d made the invitation out of friendliness, helping the new person get more familiar with the city and wanting to talk more. The thought of it turning into a date hadn’t crossed his mind until they’d started signing at one another and for some reason Shiro had suddenly looked turned on. And that had been all it took for Keith’s interest to perk up. It wasn’t every day that a ruggedly handsome man checked him out.

 

George jumped up on the bed, nosing at his phone where he had dropped it while changing. Sure enough, it trilled with an incoming call. Keith glanced at the screen.

 

“Oh, no. Absolutely not. You are the last person I need to talk to.” He hit _decline_ and went back to his wardrobe choices for the evening. His hand hovered over the dark red polo shirt when George looked at the phone and back at him expectantly.

 

And his phone began pinging repeatedly. Keith glanced at the screen and rolled his eyes at the long scroll of texts reading “Keith” as fast as Lance could copy/paste them. Keith turned the phone to silent and grabbed the polo.

 

He was brushing his teeth when George knocked his phone from the bed to the floor, nearly hitting Fred in the process. Keith rinsed his mouth and went to pick it up, nudging aside both ginger cats who were sniffing curiously. The last text read: _Stop ignoring me or i track you down and drag you to orileys for karaoke_

 

He opened the find-your-friends app and disabled it.

 

********************

 

Keith turned into the parking lot and pulled his bike into one of the three narrow motorcycle spaces under an awning near the door. As he locked his helmet into its bin, he glanced around for Shiro’s car. There were several black cars in the lot, but none of them had the license plate he recalled.

 

Another black car pulled in and Keith perked up at seeing the license plate beginning WDC—he had reflexively associated it with Washington, D.C.—and he brightened as Shiro got out and waved. Keith relaxed more at seeing Shiro in jeans, his dress shirt untucked with the sleeves rolled up. They met at the entrance and Shiro pulled the door open.

 

“Sorry I’m late. I had to swing by an ATM since I’m buying.”

 

Keith smiled and shrugged. “I only just got here myself.” He led them to the hosting station, where a pretty girl in a lavishly embroidered Indian dress waited. She smiled and pulled out two menus.

 

“Hi, Mr. Kogane! Table for two?”

 

He signed at her to indicate yes to two but no to menus and she ducked as her face turned red. He dropped his hands and groaned, “Daya! Seriously?”

 

“Sorry, sorry! Like you warned us, use it or lose it and I didn’t use it after graduating.”

 

He wagged a stern finger at her. “Get back on the bicycle now. There’s a ridiculous amount of practice videos online. Now, yes to a table for two, but I don’t think we need menus. Shiro, the buffet is really good here, unless you’re wanting something specific?”

 

Shiro was grinning at them, amused, and blinked to refocus his attention. “No, the buffet will be fine.”

 

As Daya led them over to a booth and lit the tealight centerpiece, Keith asked, “How’s Rohan doing?”

 

“Finished his sophomore year at Syracuse with top grades. He’s spending the summer with cousins in Jaipur.”

  
  
“Tell him I said hello.”

 

She passed them over to their waiter for drink orders and Keith slipped his jacket off to lay beside him. Shiro looked around at the vibrant murals and back to him. “Former students, I gather?”

 

Keith nodded. “I tend to run into them on a regular basis. And the Rasals have, like, five kids going through the schools, all of them smart. I think the youngest starts at Glenn next year. That young lady—” he pointed at the hostess “—was an inaugural member of the ASL honor society that we started. I’m crushed that she hasn’t retained her skills.”

 

He noticed Shiro’s shoulders relax slightly at that. Remembering how Shiro had described his previous small-town experience, Keith figured that common ground had been found.

 

“So, what are you doing this summer, now that you have time to actually settle in?”

 

Shiro laughed a little ruefully. “Um, yeah. Still doing that. I grabbed a three-month lease on the first decent apartment I saw because I had no idea whether I’d be offered a contract or have to start job-hunting again. Now that I know I’m staying, I want to look around for something better, a little closer to the school.”

 

Keith’s eyebrows went up. “Yeah, that would have made sense at the time.”

 

A waiter paused at their table, setting their drinks down from his tray. Keith glanced at the buffet and, seeing it mostly deserted at the moment, waved a hand. “Shall we get round one?”

 

Back at their booth with laden plates, Keith noticed that Shiro seemed to have a taste for spicy foods. Following his usual habit, Keith had a selection of his favorites plus one new thing that looked interesting. Shiro started with a forkful of biryani and closed his eyes, savoring the flavor.

 

“Been that long, huh?” Keith joked, stirring his korma into his rice.

 

Shiro nodded. “Too long. I already told you just how limited we were in my old town. It was a little better while I was in the hospital over in Greenville. Sometimes a friend would visit and bring take-out. And I’d usually get a meal after my physical therapy appointments. But it’s been years since I had Indian food.” He laid down his fork and waved his hand. His black and silver hand.

 

Keith blinked, realizing. He remembered now that Shiro had worn a glove at school, but had mentally filed and forgotten it. He was so used to working with the EC kids that he usually didn’t dwell on such things.

 

“Oh. I didn’t realize it was recent?” Keith hoped he sounded sympathetic enough.

 

“The car accident wasn’t. That was over a year ago. But coming to Glenn was my first job since the doctors decided I was capable again.”

 

“Wow. If it helps, I had no idea. You’re carrying it really well.”

 

The expression in Shiro’s eyes softened at that and Keith found himself making comparisons to describe their gray color: silver, smoky, magnetic… He made himself focus on Shiro’s voice again.

 

“I appreciate it. I think the students needed about a week to calm down about it. And of course, a few days after that I wasn’t paying attention and smashed a volumetric flask with that hand.”

 

Keith bit his lip, wondering just how spectacular it had been given he had no idea what a volumetric flask was.

 

“Amusingly enough, that was my best-behaved class for the rest of the year.”

 

So, pretty spectacular.

 

********************

 

After multiple trips to the buffet and a round of gulab jamun for dessert, Keith wiped his mouth with his napkin and sighed with satisfaction. “Best meal I’ve had in weeks.”

 

Shiro smiled and Keith tried not to notice his pulse picking up as a dimple appeared in one cheek.

 

“I agree. Totally worth the two hours I’m going to be spending in the gym tomorrow working it off.”

 

Keith laughed at that. “My method was skipping lunch today. And probably breakfast tomorrow.”

 

Shiro shook his head. “I’d need to work out anyway.” He lifted the prosthesis slightly. “This contraption is a bit heavier than the real thing, so I have to keep to a workout routine to support it.”

 

“Which gym?”

 

“Just the workout center at my apartment complex. Once I’m moved, I’ll probably look for a better option.”

 

The words were out of Keith’s mouth before he could second-guess himself. “Fitness Mania on Fulverton Drive is really good. They’re convenient, between the school and my apartment.”

 

Shiro looked interested. “Oh? Which direction is that? I still don’t know my way around here.”

 

“South of the school, heading for South Arbor and the interstate. There’s four or five apartment complexes that sprang up in the last ten years along with the big mall. My apartment’s across from the mall, on the bike trail that goes all the way into downtown.”

 

“Bike trail?”

 

“Yeah, one of the longest ones in three states. Starts in Howell County south of us and goes all the way up to the Rydell River state park. I ride it sometimes to go to afternoon Wolves games at the stadium. Easier than trying to drive there and park, if you don’t mind being a little sweaty at a baseball game.”

 

Shiro sat back, nodding to their waiter. “I can’t remember the last time I went biking. That would be a nice change of pace, if I had a bike.”

 

Keith hesitated, because he knew just how much Lance was going to milk it if he asked, but only for a moment. “We could borrow Lance’s bike. He’s in the complex next to mine and has one.”

 

Shiro looked interested in that possibility. “Do you think he’d mind?”

 

“Not at all. He may get too into his work at times, but he’s a good guy. Loves doing things for other people.”

 

“Then that sounds great.” The smile lingered on Shiro’s lips for a moment before his eyes grew uncertain and Keith realized he’d been staring too long. He thought fast and raised his hands, signing.

 

Shiro watched with concentration, obviously at sea, until Keith shifted his fists together and shook them twice. At that point he brightened and pointed at Keith. “Did you just invite me to a baseball game?”

 

Keith grinned back and nodded, adding the “pedal” motion with his fists and then raising one to his cheek to touch with a thumb and sweep forward for “tomorrow”.

 

“Biking there?”

 

Keith nodded again. Shiro bit his lip, then tapped his left wrist where his smartwatch resided.

 

He laughed and nodded enthusiastically, just like he would have when one of his students got something right. He carefully signed with his fists shaking the imaginary bat again, bumped his fists together twice with thumbs pointed up for “game”, then touching his own wrist and pulling his hand back with thumb and pinkie touching to show six o’clock. He finished with the sign for “biking” again, followed by a wrist-touch and four fingers up, palm to himself.

 

Shiro looked uncertain, but nodded. “We’d start biking the trail at four?”

 

Keith nodded again.

 

“What about dinner?”

 

Keith touched his fingers to his lips, then put his hands in front of him, fingers bent slightly like claws, and drew them to his shoulders.

 

Shiro shook his head. “Okay, I think you lost me. Eat where?”

 

“Oh, you were doing pretty well. I suggested eating at the stadium,” Keith answered, repeating the sign. “There’s the usual overpriced hot dogs and pizza and such but also a lot of local restaurants have concessions.”

 

“Would it take two hours to bike there?”

 

“No, but leaving at four would give us plenty of time without having to push ourselves too hard and get tickets before six o’clock.”

 

“Show me six again?”

 

Keith did, and Shiro studied his prosthetic hand, repeating the gesture and then showing four fingers, before looking back up at Keith. “What are the numbers?”

 

Keith raised his hand with the back of it toward Shiro, and raised his index finger, then the other fingers one at a time, followed by his thumb for one through five. He turned his hand around and touched his thumb to each finger, starting with the pinkie, for six through nine, and finished with the rotating thumbs-up motion for ten. Shiro copied him, watching intently.

 

They were so focused on one another that they both jumped at the peal of laughter. Daya set the check down and reached for their empty dishes. “Really, Mr. Kogane? Do you never stop teaching? I thought you were on a date!”

 

Feeling his cheeks about to burst into flame, Keith seized on getting his jacket and hitting the restroom while Shiro paid the bill.

 

They stepped outside and halted under the awning. A summer thunderstorm had sprung up and rain was sheeting down. “Well, fuck,” Keith muttered under his breath. Between his own nerves and Lance’s antics, he hadn’t checked the weather before leaving.

 

Shiro glanced at him, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Can you ride safely in this?”

 

Keith shrugged. “I mean, it’ll be a mess but I can do it. I’ve been caught in all kinds of weather. I’m just mad because if I’d bothered to check a forecast, I would have taken the bus.” He started to zip his jacket and pull up his collar when a spectacular bolt of lightning branched across the sky, followed by a boom of thunder strong enough to shake the ground. They both jumped and Shiro held out a hand.

 

“Will your bike be okay if I drive you home? I can bring you back tomorrow for it.”

 

“Um, yeah, I just need to ask the Rasals not to tow it. But I can hop a bus in the morning.”

 

“Nah, let me. You can show me the gym on the way.”

 

Keith glanced across the parking lot as the rain poured down. Thunder rumbled in the air once more and decided him. “Okay, give me a sec to let them know, and I’ll race you to your car.”

 

Shiro gave him an amused look and held up his keys. “You sure you want to win this one?”

  


********************

 

Saturday was shaping up to be one of the best days Keith had had in a while. There had been the usual stress of wrapping up the school year, but there was also the fact that his mom was off again, far away and not safe. He had expected to laze around the apartment, catch up on some of the chores that had been ignored during final exams, maybe get a workout in.

 

Instead he was spending most of the day with Shiro and loving every minute of it.

 

Shiro had picked him up, as promised, and they started at Fitness Mania, getting Shiro a guest pass for a week. After some weight training and thirty minutes on treadmills, Shiro had made an appointment with one of their trainers for a proper tour. After that, Keith had directed Shiro to his favorite local breakfast spot, a little walk-in that sold biscuits and doughnuts. Then Shiro had dropped Keith off at Rasal’s, his motorcycle sitting safely in its space, and they’d arranged to meet at Keith’s apartment at three-thirty before hitting the bike trail.

 

At three-fifteen, Keith knocked on Lance’s door. Lance flung it open and crowed, “Good afternoon! I hope you’re happy—you missed me and Allura doing an epic version of ‘You’re the One That I Want’!”

 

“Sure, whatever. Did you actually ask her out this time?”

 

“I was gonna, but she and Hunk started talking shop about set building for whatever musical she’s got in mind for the fall and whether his kids can help the tech theater class with construction.”

 

Keith resisted rolling his eyes and tried to look sympathetic. “Pitch _Spring Awakening_ or _Children of a Lesser God_ to her. Then maybe you can keep her attention for more than five minutes.”

 

Lance frowned and Keith was sure that he was trying to find an insult in the honest observation.

 

“Anyway, fast question. Can I borrow your bike for the rest of the day and bring it back in the morning?”

 

“What’s wrong with yours?”

 

“Doesn’t hold two people.”

 

“Two people? Does Keith Kogane actually have a _date?_ ”

 

Keith lifted his chin a little, hoping his cheeks weren’t turning pink. “I invited Shiro to the Wolves game and we were gonna bike up.”

 

“Who’s Shiro?” Lance was looking way too interested in the conversation.

 

“The science teacher that replaced Ms. Caplan. He’s new to the area.”

 

Lance leaned against the door jamb, a wicked grin widening on his face. “And of course you’re just being neighborly and showing him around.”

 

“Of course. And he’s arriving in ten minutes, so can we borrow your bike or not?”

 

Lance blinked at the sharpness in Keith’s voice, but persisted. “And what will you do if I say no?”

 

“I dig out my spare helmet and we take my motorcycle or we drive his car and fight for parking! For fuck’s sake, Lance, I had to reassure him that you liked doing things for people before he agreed to this! Why are you being an asshole?”

 

Lance’s grin faded as he took in Keith’s balled fists. “I...ah...sorry, dude. I was just winding you up. Sure, you can borrow the bike. Want the helmet, too?”

 

Keith drew a deep breath, trying to unclench his jaw. One day he was going to have to sit down and sort out just what it was about Lance that tripped his triggers so easily. “Please.”

 

Lance opened the hall closet and pulled out a bike helmet. “Here.” He led Keith over to the bike rack for the building and demonstrated the combination for the lock. “Just keep it there. I’ll come over and get it tomorrow.”

 

Keith hung the helmet on a handlebar by its strap and held out one hand. Lance took it and shook, adding, “Sorry. I hope you two have a good time.”

 

********************

 

Keith’s mood recovered quickly on the bike ride. The trail was an excellent one, wide and well-paved as it wound north, following Ingles Avenue into downtown. The few hills sloped very gently and they set a moderate pace to make conversation easier. He answered Shiro’s questions and pointed out landmarks as they rode. They arrived early enough for Keith to show Shiro around—the stadium was surrounded by repurposed industrial buildings filled with local businesses—and pick up the tickets he’d ordered online the night before.

 

Shiro gave him a sour look when Keith led them to the will-call window and gave his name. “Not fair using your insider knowledge. You didn’t even give me a chance to argue with you.”

 

Keith laughed. “Totally fair. You paid for dinner last night. Tonight is on me.”

 

“Fine, have it your way.” Shiro followed Keith to their seats, on the first-base side with a perfect view of the digital scoreboard, currently scrolling through facility advisories and ads.

 

Keith opened his program to the back pages. “Here’s a list of all the concessions. The barbecue is really good but the hot dog place has the best fries.”

 

Shiro ran his eye down the list. “As long as you help me with a funnel cake later, I’m good.”

 

Keith was about to ask when they wanted to get their food when he heard his name. “Mr. Kogane! Mr. Kogane!”

 

Keith looked around and spotted the young man waving at him. “Deshawn!” He shifted to free his hands and began signing.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith could see Shiro watching intently as they signed at one another, then Deshawn tugged on the shoulder of a boy, dressed in a team shirt and hat. The two clambered over a couple of empty seats to get to the aisle and headed up to them.

 

“Former student?”

 

“Former student,” Keith confirmed. “I think he graduated two—no, three years ago. His little brother has been deaf since birth, so he was a motivated student from the start.”

 

Shiro looked interested as the boys approached and Keith stood and high-fived Deshawn. “How’s it going?” he asked, signing at the same time for the child’s benefit.

 

Deshawn did the same. “Going good. Finished my junior year, majoring in public relations. Did you ever meet my brother?”

 

“Yeah, but he was a lot smaller then.” Keith turned and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Mr. Kogane.”

 

The child signed eagerly at him. _I’m Tyrique. I remember you. I’m in third grade now._

 

Keith pointed at his baseball cap. “You play baseball?”

 

Tyrique beamed, his hands flying as he replied, _I play outfield! Our team’s here to meet the Wolves and go out on the field with them for the anthem!_

 

“Nice!” Keith turned and pointed. “This is my friend, Mr. Shirogane. He teaches at my school, but science. He doesn’t know much ASL yet.”

 

Deshawn and Tyrique both grinned and waved. Shiro waved back and Tyrique stared at his prosthesis before turning back to Keith to sign, _What happened to him?_

 

Deshawn cuffed his shoulder and scolded, “Don’t ask like he’s not there! You hate it when people don’t talk to you directly!”

 

Seeing Tyrique’s face fall, Shiro sat up and leaned forward. “It’s okay—”

 

“No, it’s not.” Deshawn’s gestures were sharper than before, more emphatic. “Mr. Kogane didn’t just teach us ASL. He taught us the best ways to interact with anyone dealing with a disability and Tyrique should know better.”

 

Keith was briefly overwhelmed that one of his students had not only picked up on that lesson but retained it. He stepped in to try and mediate. “That’s true, but he’s also young. Kids his age are very curious and that’s something to be encouraged.”

 

Shiro reached up to put a hand on Keith’s arm and he jumped slightly. Deshawn’s eyes narrowed at the rudeness of the interruption.

 

“Can you tell him I was in a car accident? It damaged my arm badly enough that they had to remove it.” He paused and Keith realized Shiro was giving him time to communicate that.

 

Keith started to relay what Shiro was saying and murmured, “Keep going.”

 

Shiro turned to the child. “This new arm happened because a friend of mine works with a robotics engineer who had the idea and was looking for someone to work with. I have to go see him every couple of months to make sure everything is working well. He opens up a little door, right here—” he touched a panel in the forearm “—and plugs cords in like I’m a portable phone charger!”

 

They all chuckled at that and Tyrique signed directly to Shiro, pointing his index fingers toward each other and twisting his hands with a tilted head and questioning expression. Keith held in a chuckle as he relayed, “He wants to know if it hurts.”

 

“Once in a while. I need to exercise and keep my muscles strong, because it’s heavier than a normal arm. So if I get lazy my shoulder starts to hurt.”

 

“Deshawn! Bring Ty! The team is going down to the field!”

 

Deshawn waved at the woman who shouted and tapped his brother’s shoulder twice to get his attention. “Mom says it’s time to go.”

 

Keith made the shoo-ing sign, easily understood by everyone. “Go, get back to your team. Good to see you again, Deshawn.”

 

“You too, Mr. Kogane! Nice to meet you, sir!”

 

The boys ran back down the stairs and Keith sat again. Shiro glanced over at him.

 

“I...shouldn’t have grabbed your arm, should I?”

 

“It’s okay, you didn’t know. The best way to get a deaf person’s attention is tapping, like Deshawn did, or waving if you’re at a distance.” Keith looked at the empty rows where Tyrique’s team had been sitting. “This is nuts. I can go for weeks without seeing former students and lately they’ve been everywhere.”

 

“It’s kind of cool, though. Now, are we getting food first or waiting until the game’s going?”

 

“Depends on how hungry we are. They’ll be super-busy before the game and there’s usually a rush during the third or fourth inning.”

 

“If we wait that gives me more time to argue with you about letting me buy.”

 

“You paid for dinner last night!” Keith protested, unable to keep his laughter in.

 

“You paid for the tickets!” Shiro shot back.

 

“Of course I did! I invited you, remember?”

 

“So do I get to invite you to brunch tomorrow at your choice of restaurant? It’s kind of hard to impress you if you pick all the places _and_ pay.”

 

Keith’s brain stuttered to a halt, unable to form a quick response. The notion that Shiro was looking to impress him made his heart beat a little faster. He glanced up, daring to meet Shiro’s gaze.

 

He looked a little uneasy, as if he hadn’t meant to say it. But his eyes were darker, smouldering, and Keith wanted to simply fall into them. He took a breath, trying to calm himself, and managed a playful grin. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m plenty impressed already.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who want to see the actual signs I describe in the story, I've been using [this ASL dictionary](https://www.handspeak.com/word/) the most.


	3. Moving In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, here's another chapter!
> 
> As always, many thanks to [Latart0903](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latart0903) for the most excellent and valuable beta support.

 

Shiro was skimming the news on his tablet, waiting for his coffee to kick in, when the text notification popped up in the corner of the screen. He glared at it, since there was only one person that would message him at this hour of the morning.

 

**Matt: Did you pick a workshop yet?**

 

Shiro rolled his eyes and opened the app.

 

**Shiro: Not yet.**

 

His phone rang within seconds and Shiro picked it up. Matt continued the conversation without missing a beat.

 

“You’d better. All the spots are gonna fill up and then Monty will have to fight Callahan over you doing AP Physics again.”

 

“I’m actually in a good place with my certification.” 

 

Matt huffed. “Yeah, but they’re adjusting the curriculum and Monty wants you teaching it because you’re the hot new commodity. Word’s gotten around that your kids left the exam feeling confident. But Callahan is in charge of both scheduling and the AP program, she can overrule the department chairs, and she won’t assign you to teach an AP course if you haven’t been to a workshop in the last three years. Have you been to a workshop recently?”

 

Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. The faculty politics at his previous school had been nonexistent compared to this maze of personalities. “No, little matter of an accident and rehab. But look, I’m still trying to get myself into a new place and settled. I’d rather not have to go through planning a week-long trip to who knows where. The closest ones are Philadelphia and Atlanta, and I can’t expect the district to pay for it.”

 

“Actually, you can. Or at least part of it. The bright side of Callahan being a stickler about her requirements is she’ll fight to get at least the course fees covered. And you can join Pidge’s group that’s going after a grant to pay airfare for up to ten people. That just leaves the room and board bit.”

 

“Ugh.” Shiro groaned, remembering the last time he’d gone to an AP workshop. That one had been hosted by a university and they’d put the participants up in campus dorm rooms. His room had been small and bare, with a twin bed that didn’t fit his six-foot-five frame. He put his coffee mug in the sink and glanced at the screen as his phone pinged a notification.

 

**Keith: ASL coffee chat fell apart. Still going to work out? I could join you.**

 

“Look, I need to go. Keith’s meeting me at the gym.”

 

“Wait, weren’t you two already going to dinner tonight? And you had dinner with him like, twice this week already. At this rate you ought to just move in with him!”

 

“Shut up, Matt.”

 

“How big is his place? Or maybe you two need to get a townhouse!”

 

“Goodbye, Matt.”

 

Shiro disconnected on Matt’s shout of “Pick a conference!” and opened his messenger app to text Keith back. He moved toward his bedroom to get changed, a spring in his step.

 

********************

 

The workout with Keith had been followed by a round of scouting rental possibilities. The process was rapidly becoming the bane of Shiro’s existence, between the misleading photographs of interiors, inaccurate lists of amenities, and property managers with grins like sharks. After yet another afternoon of coming up empty, Shiro was more than ready to spend a pleasant evening with Keith.

 

Matt hadn’t been far off the mark. Keith seemed to have made it a mission to personally show Shiro all the local culinary gems the city had to offer. The ball game had been followed by Sunday brunch at a place featuring a farm-to-table menu. Wednesday evening had been an excellent Greek restaurant. Tonight was something new for Shiro, a Spanish tapas bar.

 

Keith’s eyes were shining with excitement as the hostess seated them next to the large window. They had a view of the downtown street and a small plaza across the way. Three teens were drumming with upside-down buckets and several people danced along in the late summer evening.

 

“Sarah—” Shiro must have looked blank at the name, because Keith interrupted himself to clarify “—my department chair, Sarah. She brought me here last fall. She said it was for my birthday, but it’s also because she really wanted to try this place and her husband has this unreasonable prejudice against the entire concept of tapas. I hope the menu hasn’t changed much—the food was amazing!”

 

Shiro skimmed the menu, making a mental note of the birthday mention. The server walked them through several selections to share. They bickered cheerfully, discovering that Keith hated shellfish and nothing would ever convince Shiro to try a Brussels sprout.

 

Order placed, Keith sat back in his chair. “Any luck with the apartment-hunting today?” he asked, fingers twirling the stem of his wine glass.

 

Shiro made himself look up. He had noticed that Keith seemed to need to do something with his hands if he wasn’t signing. His imagination betrayed him, picturing what Keith could do to him with those slim fingers, and Shiro fought down a blush.

 

_ Get yourself under control, Shirogane. You’ve known him less than two weeks. _

 

“Ah, no. Nothing at all. I’m starting to get really annoyed.”

 

“Have you looked south side yet? I’m pretty sure there are vacancies in my complex and Lance’s.”

 

_ No, I haven’t. That’s so close to you. _

 

“I haven’t. I was hoping for a commute with not too much traffic and you have the mall right there.”

 

Keith shrugged. “It’s honestly not bad except during the holidays. I leave at 7:40 and get to the school in ten minutes or less. The afternoon’s worse, but only if you can’t get out of the parking lot before 4:45.” He leaned forward. “The rental office is open tomorrow afternoon. Come by.”

 

Shiro pressed his lips together, considering.  _ No harm in looking. _

 

“All right, I will.”

 

Their server brought the first round, bacon-wrapped dates and patatas bravas. Shiro eyed the dates dubiously—he’d never quite gotten the appeal of sweet and salty together—but Keith speared one and bit into it with enthusiasm. Shiro watched as he closed his eyes in bliss, chewing and swallowing. Shiro had to shift as his jeans grew just a little tight.

 

“Sarah had to talk me into trying these. I have this knee-jerk reaction to bacon-wrapped anything because it was so trendy for a while. But this combination works. Here,” Keith laid one on Shiro’s plate. “Just take one bite.”

 

Shiro eyed the date dubiously before taking a knife and fork to cut it in two. He picked up one half with the fork, melted cheese dripping from the space where the date had been sliced and pitted. His first reaction was surprised pleasure at the blend of textures, the crisp bacon around the chewy date, then the flavors registered. His eyebrows shot up and a hum of approval escaped.

 

Keith grinned in delight. “See?”

 

Shiro laughed. “Okay, yeah, that’s good.” He ate the other half while Keith divided the potatoes between them.

 

The meal progressed pleasantly, other than Shiro’s shrimp being a bit too garlicky for his liking and Keith sharing his steak with him to compensate. As they waited for the check, Keith asked idly, “Any exciting plans for the summer?”

 

Shiro groaned. “I’m being yelled at to do an AP workshop, so I guess I have to go somewhere at some point.”

 

Keith made a face. “I’ve got an event at the end of July. It’s pretty much a hard sales pitch from a textbook company disguised as a workshop, but they’re paying for the flight and hotel and I get content area renewal credits. Usually the only way to get those for ASL is to go to the national conference.”

 

On the drive back to Keith’s place, they compared past workshop experiences, then drifted to teaching resources and then to favorite reading. As Shiro pulled into a parking spot, Keith looked over. “Want to come in for a few? I’ve got a bottle of wine that needs finishing.”

 

Shiro paused, judging and deciding that another glass of wine on top of the one at dinner would still leave him safe for driving. He nodded. “Sounds good.”

 

They were met at the door by a pair of orange cats and Shiro bent down to offer his fingers to be sniffed. The one with white paws nosed him, while the second one twined around his ankles and meowed. But the second Keith headed for the kitchen, they both followed, tails high.

 

“You’re lying, both of you. You have been fed and watered and your litter box was clean when I left.”

 

They meowed in protest and Shiro laughed. Keith scooped up the solid ginger. “This is Fred. That one is George. They’re as incorrigible as their namesakes.” He handed the cat to Shiro, who fumbled slightly as he received a vigorous headbutt to his chin. Keith set out a pair of stemless wine glasses and pulled the cork from a bottle.

 

“Dump him if he’s a bother.” Keith concentrated on pouring an equal amount of wine into each glass. Shiro let Fred down and picked up one glass.

 

“Here’s to summers off, after a fashion?”

 

Keith smiled and raised the other glass. “Cheers to that.” They clinked glasses and sipped.

 

“Wow, that’s...sweet.” Shiro ran his tongue around his teeth, trying to adjust to the unexpected flavor.

 

Keith nodded. “Local winery, local grapes. Sorry, I should have asked about your preferences. This is basically alcoholic Kool-Aid.”

 

Shiro took a second tentative sip, concentrating on the idea of a dessert wine, and it was better. “It’s okay. I think I like it. Just wasn’t expecting it.”

 

Keith moved into the living room, waving a hand as he sat at one end of the sofa. Shiro followed and took the other end. He noticed a few brochures on the coffee table, featuring Atlanta travel information. He leaned forward for a closer look.

 

Keith noticed and waved his wine glass toward the pile. “Workshop’s in Atlanta. Could be worse, I suppose. Could have been Florida.”

  
  
Without thinking, Shiro responded, “One of the AP workshops I’m looking at is in Atlanta.”

 

Keith’s eyebrows went up. “Oh? When? Mine runs from July twenty-fourth to twenty-ninth. Fly down Friday, workshop stuff Saturday, Monday, and Tuesday, fly back Wednesday.”

 

Shiro shifted his glass to his left hand, aware that his metallic fingers were clenching from nerves. “Mine would be the last week in July.”

 

“Monday to Friday, right? And putting you up in dorms? I’ve heard some of the other AP teachers complain about the accommodations. Sarah just picked one near her in-laws and stayed with them the last time she went.” Keith sat up, putting his drink down and moving to the center of the couch to reach for one of the brochures. “They’re paying five nights in the hotel. I could see about switching my flight and extending the reservation two nights. We could split the costs. One night in a hotel would be cheaper than what they’d charge you for room and board, right?”

 

Shiro stared into his glass and swallowed hard, finding it all too easy to imagine a luxury hotel room with an enormous bed...and Keith laid out on it, waiting for him…

 

Keith shifted and Shiro realized he’d been quiet too long. He took another gulp of wine.

 

“I’m sorry,” Keith began hesitantly. “Bad idea?”

 

Shiro set his glass down, afraid of dropping it. “No, no… I mean, it’s a smart idea. I just… I haven’t shared a hotel room with anyone since my college days, going to sci-fi cons. Before…” He trailed off and gestured at his prosthesis with his other hand.

 

“Oh, if it’s… Okay, I am sorry. I didn’t think. I keep forgetting about your arm.”

 

Shiro’s gaze snapped back to Keith’s face, seeing a growing expression of regret. His cheeks showed the first hints of a blush. His words echoed in Shiro’s mind: Keith was so comfortable around him that he  _ kept forgetting _ about Shiro’s disability.

 

Keith moved as if to stand, and that galvanized Shiro into action. He laid a hand on Keith’s shoulder to keep him in place, then drew him close, his hand sliding up so his thumb could trace the sharp jawline. He paused long enough to give Keith a chance to pull back.

 

Instead, with a hitch in his breath, Keith leaned in and met him halfway, his lips already slightly parted. It took all of Shiro’s willpower to keep the kiss gentle and exploring, brushing his mouth across Keith’s briefly and pulling back slightly. He brought up his other hand to cradle Keith’s face and focused on his lips, scared to look up into his eyes.

 

“Bad idea?”

 

Keith let out one snort of laughter and laid his hands on top of Shiro’s. He looked up to see Keith’s eyes shining back at him.

 

“No. A brilliant idea,” Keith answered as he pushed forward for more.

 

********************

 

Shiro had signed a lease for an apartment in Keith’s complex, one building over from him, the next afternoon. And now, two days later, he had a tiny brigade of help schlepping the never-unpacked boxes and non-essentials from his old place to the new, so he could rent the smallest moving van available for the rest. They were all sitting in the floor of the living area, christening the new place with delivered pizza, a bottle of rum, and pop-top cans of mojito mixer. Keith and Matt had discovered a shared interest in Ghibli films, while Pidge was annihilating Lance at some competitive billiards game on their phones.

 

Shiro sat against the wall, a large cushion under his prosthesis to support his aching shoulder, and basked in the feeling of a new group of friends coalescing. He had had a few close friends from his college days as he began his first teaching job and there had been a couple of co-workers to hang out with. And for a while there had been Adam, but that relationship had gotten strained by the accident and extended recovery time. Shiro’s decision to move in order to work with the specialist on his state-of-the-art prosthesis had been the final nail in the coffin.

 

It was good to feel welcomed, to have people who had met him after the accident and weren’t making adjustments from Shiro-before to Shiro-after. It felt especially good that Keith and Matt took his disability in stride, that Lance was comfortable enough to make jokes that bordered on the offensive, that Pidge asked him eager questions about the arm and how it worked for him.

 

His attention had drifted enough that he was mildly surprised when Keith sat down next to him and began kneading his shoulder. “Glad you’re letting movers do the heavy lifting.”

 

Shiro let his head relax against the wall and sighed as Keith’s fingers found the knots and began working them loose. Matt caught Shiro’s attention with a gleeful smirk. Shiro made a face back at him and Matt cackled before he said, “Nag session incoming. Did you schedule a workshop?”

 

“Yes, mother, I did. Atlanta in July.” He glanced at Keith, who smiled and continued massaging his shoulder.

 

Lance looked up at that, his gaze sharpening. He dropped his phone, ignoring Pidge’s squeak of protest, and began signing at Keith.

 

Keith’s eyes narrowed. He lifted one hand and made a gesture that the others had no trouble recognizing. Matt and Pidge both dissolved into giggles.

 

“Mind your own damn business, Lance. And cut it out—if there’s something you want to say to me without the others knowing, wait until later or text it on the sly like a normal person.”

 

Lance’s face went red with embarrassment or anger and Shiro felt a shift in the room. He remembered graduation, of a shouting match in the parking lot, and Keith immediately thinking of borrowing a bicycle from Lance with the confidence of an easy friendship. Which of the two was it? Matt and Pidge were looking at Lance with trepidation as he drew in a breath, ready to respond—

 

A knock on the door interrupted whatever Lance was going to say next and Matt jumped to his feet to answer it. The person on the other side was vaguely familiar and blinked in confusion at seeing Matt, a plate of cookies in his hand.

 

“Holt? Hey, man. Didn’t realize you’d moved.” He held up the plate. “Wanted to say welcome to the building.”

 

Matt laughed, too loudly, as he released his tension. “Garrett! I didn’t know you lived here. But it’s not my place, Shiro there just moved in.” He stepped back to give the other room to come in.

 

“Oh! Cool. I saw the boxes in all the cars and wanted to say hello.” He looked around and gave a small snort. “Who called the faculty meeting and didn’t tell me?”

 

Everyone laughed at that and Keith boosted Shiro to his feet so he could take the plate. “I remember you from graduation. I also remember ‘grew up in Houston’, but not your name. I’m Shiro.”

 

“Ha. Funny what your brain hangs on to. I’m Hunk.” He looked around the room, waving at Lance, who returned the greeting. “I know they’re Holt and Holt and I’ve seen him around campus before.” He held a hand out to Keith. “Hunk Garrett, CTE.”

 

Keith smiled and took it. “Keith Kogane, DHH.”

 

Hunk glanced around at the piles of boxes. “So, are you all moved in or would another pair of hands help?”

 

Shiro shook his head. “I’m good for now. But movers are doing the furniture Thursday. If you’re around, I could probably use a little help then.”

 

“Cool! I’m downstairs, number 5. Just knock on my door. Anyway, cookies! Hot from the oven—everyone try one!”

 

********************

 

After seeing the others out with thanks and goodbyes, Shiro padded back into the living area. It was empty and he frowned, looking around for Keith. The pizza boxes were stacked on the kitchen island, but Keith was nowhere to be seen.

 

Then a voice floated through the open door to the balcony. “Yeah, basically any time between now and August fifteenth. My only hard commitment is a work conference at the end of July. Other than that, I can be there on a day’s notice.”

 

Keith paced around the small balcony, listening to the reply. He paused, propping his elbows on the railing and looking out into the darkening evening. The hand not holding his phone was curled in a fist, thumb shifting between various letters of ASL.

 

Keith spoke again, the words trembling. “I miss you, too. Can’t wait to see you.” There was one more pause as he listened. “I love you, too. Be careful. Bye.”

 

Shiro watched as Keith disconnected, shoved his phone in a pocket, and buried his face in his hands. He felt frozen, unsure what to do and afraid that this was a conversation Keith hadn’t intended for him to hear.

 

Shiro had assumed the attraction he felt was mutual after the way Keith had kissed him back the other night. But they had yet to explore further or discuss their relationship, much less share the intricacies of their romantic lives. Shiro had yet to bring up Adam and the damage done there. And Keith’s romantic past—or present—was just as much of an unknown.

 

Then Keith turned, coming back through the door and Shiro saw him scrub at his eyes.

 

“Keith?”

 

His head snapped up, with the light revealing the tear tracks on his face.

 

Shiro followed his immediate impulse and stepped forward, embracing him. Keith’s head fell onto his shoulder and his hands came up to cling to Shiro’s back.

 

“Is… Is everything okay?”

 

Keith sniffled and disengaged a little, wiping his face even as he stayed in Shiro’s arms. “Sort of. Can I have some water?”

 

Shiro filled a glass for him and Keith drained it. He set the glass on the counter and leaned against it, his arms tight across his chest. It was completely unlike Keith’s usual demeanor, hands loose and ready to start flowing with communication.

 

“Sorry about that. I got some unexpected news and it’s kind of hitting me hard.”

 

Shiro moved to the kitchen island and leaned forward, trying to invite Keith’s confidence. “It’s okay. What can I do to help?”

 

Keith let out a cynical chuff of laughter. “Bring about world peace?”

 

Shiro tried to school his expression, but Keith spotted his surprise and uncertainty. He grimaced and let his arms drop. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay, Keith. Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Keith nodded and took a deep breath. “The phone call… That was my mom. She’s military, covert ops. She did a lot of high-level, dangerous missions before she met my pop. I wasn’t originally part of the deal, but when she got pregnant, they married and she retired. Retirement lasted about five years before her old bosses got in touch, begging her to at least take on planning and command of some operations. That just meant that she traveled within the country or to secure bases, but was still gone for months at a time and only able to call once a week or so.

 

“Then my pop died when I was eight. He was a firefighter, killed in the line of duty. And it was a bureaucratic nightmare because no one had all the information needed to get in touch with Mom through official channels. Not the station, not the school, not even her brother, who was five states away. I was in foster care for thirteen weeks, by which time I’d stopped talking to anyone, because in those first days no one would listen to me when I tried to explain that yes, I had a mom and she’d come back.”

 

Shiro couldn’t help himself. He moved around the island to put his hands on Keith’s shoulders, rubbing them up and down his arms to offer comfort. Keith’s eyes focused, losing their faraway look.

 

“Anyway, once she managed to get back and straighten things out, it was her second retirement and this time she made it stick until I started college. But they came back, offering more than enough money to offset my education. And frankly, I think it’s the kind of work she was born to do, but it’s always been risky and it’s getting more so every year. This time she’s been gone for over six months, but thinks she’ll get the chance to come home soon, at least for a few days. So if I suddenly take off without warning, it’s because she’s back in the country.”

 

“If you’d like company, keep me posted.”

 

Keith blinked at that. “You’d do that for me?”

 

“I would. Not to intrude on you and your mom, but if you wanted someone to travel with you, let me know.” He slid his hands up to either side of Keith’s neck, his thumbs tracing that honed jawline. “I want to help, if I can.”

 

Keith put his hands over Shiro’s, holding them in place. The turmoil in his eyes shifted to gratitude and his lips curved into a faint smile. Shiro tightened his hold just a fraction, wanting to hang onto this moment and this vulnerable, breathtakingly beautiful man before him.

 

“That would be brilliant,” Keith whispered. “I haven’t had the chance to introduce my mom to my boyfriend since high school.”

 

Elation surged through Shiro, but he held onto it, not wanting to break the mood. “Boyfriend, huh?” When Keith tensed, realizing what he had said, Shiro leaned in to rest their foreheads together. “Sounds like a plan, then.”

 

With a half-disbelieving laugh, Keith pushed up and into Shiro, pouring his thanks and affection through a firm kiss.

 

Shiro met him halfway, sending a flood of desire back without a single word.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always for reading!


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